


just use your imagination

by townshend



Category: South Park
Genre: Ableist Language, Cameos, Canon-typical -isms, Fade to Black, First Time Blow Jobs, Imagination, M/M, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-09
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:59:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1893087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/townshend/pseuds/townshend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Cartman gets elected as the Official Class Trip Planner, Kyle starts getting suspicions that Cartman's intentions aren't as well-meaning and civically-minded as he's claiming. Too bad nobody's listening. Kyle can only hope he'll be able to figure out what Cartman's up to and put an end to it before it's too late.</p><p>The idea that this all could have something to do with him and a seven year old bet never even enters his mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lightebonydarkivory](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightebonydarkivory/gifts).



> Quick note that this story takes place in high school for the boys! Also, not to worry, non-South Park characters are really just cameos, but since they do have speaking lines I included them in the tags. If you don't know them, it's not a big deal!

They'd been sitting around Stan's living room when it happened - suddenly, out of nowhere, a commercial for a Terrance and Phillip reunion film came on. The room seemed to light up, and Stan suddenly sat forward on the couch, clearly excited.

"Holy crap!" he said. "Terrance and Phillip are making another movie? How did we not hear about this already?"

"It's probably gonna suck ass," Cartman said off-handed, popping a handful of cheesy poofs in his mouth. "Remember Asses of Fire 2?"

"Remember the first one?" Stan replied. "That was a mess."

"What? Why?" Kenny reached over, shoving his hand in Cartman's chip bag.

"Oh, you weren't—" Kyle suddenly frowned, confused. "Wait, where were you during all that again?"

Kenny sighed.

"He was on vacation or something," Stan shrugged. "Anyway, that was in like fourth grade right? Man…"

"Nah, Kenny's family's too poor to go on vacation. Right, Kenny?" Cartman laughed, and at the insult, Kenny reached in for another handful of Cartman's chips, managing to snag some before Cartman snatched the bag away. Still, antics aside, memories of their tumultuous fourth grade year seemed to hang in the air, each boy caught in their own reverie. Sure, things had always been crazy in South Park, but something about that year had just been crazier than usual. They'd never really talked about it before, usually content to leave the past in the past, but now that it was in their face…

"Remember that time we played Game of Thrones and Kenny was legally recognized as a Princess by the Japanese government?" Kyle said, lips quirked up in amusement. Kenny bowed as well as he could sitting on a couch, and the group erupted in laughter.

"Oh man… what about that time I bought an entire amusement park?" Cartman added. "That was kick ass."

"How did you even do that?" Kyle asked, frowning. Cartman shrugged.

"I dunno, I don't remember."

"Cartmanland, right?" Stan shook his head, amused. "Oh, hey, remember Imaginationland?" Stan offered. Kyle made a face.

"Let's not talk about that," he said, firmly - but Cartman was already thinking about it.

"Why not?" Stan asked, clearly confused - he'd dropped some things from that memory over time, apparently, and Kyle wasn't about to illuminate him.

"What about the time we went zip-lining?" Kyle said instead, with a little force, and Stan threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Let it go! I thought it would be fun!" he cried.

The chatter continued between the three of them, but Cartman had fallen oddly silent. Nobody really noticed - their pizza came and they devoured it, Kenny realized he was late for his shift at the convenience store and ran out while pulling on his uniform, and after just one more hour of Street Fighter, Kyle realized he was going to be cutting it close getting back home before curfew and quickly grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder and springing up to head out. Cartman stood, too, dusting crumbs from his pants.

"I'd better get back," Kyle said, checking his phone for the time. Stan nodded, setting his controller down.

"We still on for this weekend?" he asked. Kyle grinned. They had plans to play a Resident Evil marathon, starting with the first one and working their way through the series. Stan had been on a zombie kick lately, and that seemed like a good place to start.

"Definitely."

"Aww, I can't make it this weekend," Cartman complained, loudly, aware he hadn't actually been asked. "I promised mom I'd help her clean up the backyard. That sucks. We'll have to do it some other time."

Kyle rolled his eyes, settling his gaze on his friend. "Nobody invited you, Cartman," he said, firmly. "Anyway, I gotta get home, mom's gonna have a fit if I'm late again."

"Your mom needs to watch her blood pressure," Cartman said knowingly, grabbing his own backpack. "She shouldn't get all pissed off all the time at her size."

Kyle raised an eyebrow, shooting a look at Cartman. "You're one to talk!" he cried, voice shrill.

"I carefully manage my anger, Kyle," Cartman said, closing his eyes, adopting a long-suffering expression. "Honestly."

"Whatever." Kyle frowned, waved to Stan, and started up out of the basement. Cartman turned to leave after him, and Stan looked a little surprised.

"You're both leaving?" he asked, a little disappointed. "Street Fighter sucks ass by yourself."

"I gotta get home too," Cartman said. Kyle was paused at the top of the stairs, peering down at both of his friends in confusion. "I don't want my mom to get worried."

"Whatever, your mom doesn't care how late you stay out," Stan said, crossing arms over his chest. "See you guys tomorrow."

"See ya," Kyle called, moving through the living room and out onto the front porch. Cartman was close on his heels, and they walked for a few minutes down the road in silence.

It was chilly outside - Colorado delegated about two weeks total in September to Fall, and by the time October rolled around South Park was already covered in snow that wouldn't melt all the way until May, probably. It hadn't quite started yet, but Kyle eyed the sky suspiciously, as if expecting the first flakes of the season to start coming down any minute now. And speaking of eyeing things suspiciously… Kyle couldn't help but notice that Cartman was walking beside him, still oddly silent. Kyle let out a sigh, his breath coming out in a faint burst of visible air in the cold.

"What the hell do you want, Cartman?" he asked, plainly. Sometimes Kyle had more patience for his "friend" - after all, they'd known each other forever, it felt like, and Kyle hadn't given up on him yet, somehow - but it had been a long day, and Kyle wasn't looking forward to the next day's calculus test. He probably shouldn't have spent all night playing videogames.

"You wound me, Kyle, you really do," Cartman said, adjusting his coat to zip it up against the chill. "Can't a guy want to walk home with his friend?"

Kyle frowned. "I guess," he said, warily.

And for the most part, the walk home was uneventful - so Kyle's irritated suspicion had been, strangely, misplaced. They got to Kyle's house first, and Cartman waved goodbye, even going so far as to greet Mrs. Broflovski at the door before turning down the street himself. Kyle only got a glance of him leaving as he closed the door, preparing himself for an earful from his mother about being a few minutes late on a school night.

When he finally settled into bed that night, he couldn't shake the feeling that something weird had just started. He couldn't place why, exactly, he thought that, but he was sure there had to be a reason.

…Or it was all nerves from the impending test. Either or.


	2. Chapter 2

Kyle had been so focused on his test that he'd completely forgotten about upcoming student council elections. A few people had encouraged him to run, but he'd totally given up on that. It wasn't until he had joined Stan at their usual lunch table that he remembered it, noticing the sheer number of posters that had suddenly plastered the cafeteria overnight. Wendy was standing a few feet away, overseeing a large "WENDY FOR JUNIOR CLASS PRESIDENT" banner that seemed to hang from one side of the cafeteria to the other. Kyle shook his head, bemused.

"Do you really even need a banner?" he asked, sliding down onto the bench. Wendy glanced at him, smiled, and lowered her clipboard. "I thought you were running unopposed." Most people in their class had figured out a long time ago that running against Wendy for class president was a stupid move.

"It just looks nice, don't you think?" she asked, grinning a little. "Actually, the whole ballot is kind of empty this year." She frowned back down to her clipboard. "We still need somebody to serve as the Official Class Trip Planner. You should sign up, Kyle. We don't even have anybody—"

And then there was the sound of somebody loudly clearing their throat, and Wendy stopped. Kyle, Stan, and Wendy all turned to see Cartman, lunchbox in one hand, a piece of paper in the other. He offered the paper to Wendy, nodding to her.

"Wendy," he said.

"What's this?" She grabbed the form, eyes quickly scanning over it before turning back up to him skeptically. "Since when did you care about school elections, Cartman?"

"Oh, you know…" Cartman trailed off, setting his lunchbox next to Stan. "I just realized this morning that we all have a heavy civic responsibility to uphold." He closed his eyes, nodding sagely. All three of his friends stared back in quiet disbelief, before Kyle finally let out a puff of breath.

"Yeah right," Kyle said. "Is there some kind of perk or something?" He glanced towards Wendy, clearly expecting a more honest answer from her. "What did he even run for?"

"Well…" Wendy glanced down at Cartman's form, frowning at it. He'd definitely taken a lot of care in filling it out. He even had a teacher signature as a sponsor, just as required. "It looks like he's running for Official Class Trip Planner…"

"And that's unopposed, isn't it," Cartman said. It wasn't really a question, he was clearly aware he was basically a shoo-in. He opened his lunchbox, taking out a small bag of chips and ripping them open. The waves of self-satisfaction coming off of him were almost palpable, Kyle almost wanted to cringe away from them.

"And what does that mean," Stan asked, flatly. Kenny had just shown up, brown paper bag in hand, and slid down next to Cartman, clearly interested in whatever conversation he'd joined late in.

"It means, Stan, that I have the responsibility for planning our junior class trip. I have to find the hotel, the transportation, have to gather the permission slips, and— ah, right. I choose the destination."

Stan frowned. "No wonder nobody else is running for that. That sounds fucking terrible."

"Well…" Wendy frowned at the slip. Clearly, there wasn't anything she could do to stop Cartman from running. "…I guess I'll go turn this in to the advisor. Elections are tomorrow, but… unless somebody else submits a form in the next hour, you're not going to have anybody against you." She smiled towards Stan, and he suddenly stopped chewing his food, looking a little nervous. "Bye Stan!" With that, Wendy was gone, pausing only long enough to leave a kiss on the top of Stan's head. Kenny watched with amusement as Stan struggled to swallow.

Lunch went by pretty uneventfully, except for Kenny ribbing on Stan relentlessly for his crush-not-quite-but-maybe-sort-of-relationship with Wendy. (What was even going on with them? Kyle was Stan's best friend and he had no idea.) The four of them all had biology after lunch together, and they headed towards their block class chatting together idly.

"So what choices are you gonna have for the class trip?" Stan asked, as students filed into their seats for the science class.

"Choices?" Cartman blinked. "You think this is a democracy, Stan?"

Kyle frowned. "Haven't the juniors always voted on where to go for the class trip?" he asked. The planner usually put together three or four choices, took the vote in homeroom, and tallied all the votes up before making any other plans or arrangements. Last year they'd voted between South Dakota, Florida, Paris, and London - all pretty good choices (except the first one, which was put in by the teachers insisting on at least one more American educational choice. It wasn't like it had any chance of winning). They'd gone to Paris in the end, a good compromise between "fun" and "you can still learn something here", which was pretty cool. The drinking age there was lower, at least.

"Sure, but it's not like that's a requirement." Cartman pulled out a notebook and turned it to a blank page, beginning to doodle. "I already know exactly where we're going to go."

"What? Where?" Kyle gave Cartman a suspicious look. This wasn't like Cartman. There'd be no way he'd do something like this unless something was in it for him. He couldn't figure it out earlier, at the lunch table, but if getting elected meant that Cartman picked where the class trip was, it probably meant he had some reason to need to be in control of it. Kyle wasn't sure he liked that at all.

"Wouldn't you like to know, Kyle?" Cartman glanced up at him, smirking, and Kyle opened his mouth to retort but was suddenly cut off by their teacher loudly calling for attention and beginning to take roll. He screwed his mouth shut, watching Cartman silently, glowering a little.

"I don't know what you're up to, Cartman, but I'm going to find out," Kyle whispered.

"Mr. Broflovski, something you want to share with the class?" their teacher asked. Kyle perked up, quickly flipping around in his chair to face the front of the class. Damn, their teacher really did have super hearing.

"Uhh, no, Mr. Stevenson, sorry," he said, quickly.

"Alright." The teacher went back to calling roll, and Kyle tried to relax and focus on taking notes - but he couldn't help but feel something uncomfortable about Cartman's eyes on his back for the rest of the class, even if he refused to look back to confirm it.


	3. Chapter 3

For a few weeks, things were quiet. Elections had happened and the results were mostly unsurprising - Wendy was Class President (again), Token had won Class Treasurer, and Cartman had become the junior class's Official Class Trip Planner. Kyle was on edge for days after the announcement, but nothing really came of it - Stan asked Cartman once why it seemed like he wasn't doing anything and Cartman had yelled back that civic processes took time, and that had really been the end of it—

Until one morning, in homeroom, when Cartman came to pass around permission slips.

"W-what do you mean, permission slips," Butters asked, scrunching up his face to squint at his as it touched his desk, as if he couldn't read it. "I thought we were gonna vote on where to go, y'know, all democratic-like and stuff."

"No, Butters," Cartman said, injecting the sort of tone you'd take with a two-year-old into his voice. "You may think you're living in a democracy, but I think it's time you learned that the choices you make are ultimately useless. That's why we're going to the heart of American democracy itself, to really get a good look at our government. That's why we're going to—"

Kyle gazed down at his permission slip in fractured disbelief. "Washington DC?" he asked, his voice nearly cracking. He quickly tried to cover for it, clearing his throat, flushing in embarrassment. Luckily, that embarrassment was suddenly replaced by anger. "Are you kidding me? This is fucking retarded." He'd expected something better than this! New York City, Disney World, Berlin, god, even South Carolina would be better than this. At least there were beaches.

"That's pretty lame, Cartman," Butters agreed, setting his permission slip down on his desk.

"Everyone knows you'll get grounded a week before the trip and not get to go anyway, Butters," Cartman said, holding his stack of papers to pass out to the next homeroom. His eyes moved to Craig, who was raising his hand in the back of the room. "Yes, Craig?"

"Yeah, is this a required trip, or can we stay home and play videogames?"

Cartman sighed. "The trip is required curriculum," he said, patiently. "And there's always financial help for people who probably can't pay the deposit, like Kenny's family."

Kenny was in homeroom with Stan down the hall, but Kyle could pretty much imagine what his response to that would be. As it was, Craig made sure to flip Cartman off, and with a sigh, their homeroom teacher sent him out into the hall. It kind of had to take skill to get in trouble in homeroom.

"Everything has to be turned in to me or Mr. Wilson by the end of next week," Cartman said, with finality. Mr. Wilson was the government teacher and leader of the student government. Kyle knew him vaguely from the government class he'd taken sophomore year. A few moments later, Cartman was gone, on to the next homeroom, and Kyle was left staring down at his permission slip in confusion.

And the feeling of mounting suspicion from the month before was suddenly back. He licked his lips, read over the permission slip for the tenth time, and then stuffed it into his backpack, realizing it didn't really hold any more answers for him.

Washington DC. Why? Before, Kyle had been pretty sure that Cartman had taken the position of Official Class Trip Planner to pick the destination, but he'd expected Hollywood or Germany, if Cartman's interests were anything to go by. DC? What was he planning? To kill the President?

Knotting fingers in his hair, Kyle took in a deep breath, slumping over a bit in his desk. Butters seemed to notice Kyle's distress and gingerly pat his back.

"Aww, c'mon, little buddy," Butters said, clearly intending to be reassuring. "It's okay. There's gotta be something fun to do in Washington DC!"

"Shut up, Butters," Kyle grumbled.

Kyle didn't see Stan for the rest of the day until school let out, and he went to wait by their bus for his friend, trying to figure out a way to talk about what was bothering him about Cartman. When Stan showed up and they slid into their typical bus seat, Stan glanced towards Kyle, easily reading the situation.

They'd known each other for so long that it wasn't exactly surprising that he could.

"Washington DC?" he asked. The expression that crossed Kyle's face was enough to tell him that he was right.

"Yeah, what the hell!" Kyle cried. "What's Cartman thinking?"

"I was pretty sure he'd pick, I don't know, a cheesy poofs factory or something," Stan said, shrugging. "Don't they make those in Wisconsin?"

"Dude, that's not the point," Kyle said, seriously. "Washington DC is lame and all, but that's not even the point."

"Well, what is the point?" Stan asked, arching an eyebrow.

Kyle gaped back at Stan incredulously. "Seriously? He's planning something! He's gotta be, I don't know, going to kidnap the President, or— trying to infiltrate Congress— something!"

Stan laughed, and Kyle sunk further into his seat, frowning. "Dude, come on. Maybe in like, fourth grade. It is weird, though. Washington DC? Haven't we been there before?"

Kyle hadn't thought of that — he'd been too busy going over potential Cartman-esque schemes in his head. "Huh?"

"Yeah— back in elementary school. Remember? We had to go to the Pentagon after Cartman found that leprechaun?"

Kyle just stared back in return. Wait a second. They had been to Washington DC before. They'd gone to the Pentagon because of the terrorist attack on the imagination. Stan and Butters had been in Imaginationland, and…

"Shit," Kyle muttered. Could this be why? Was Cartman trying to get back to Imaginationland? But why?

That night, Kyle poked around his dinner, asked to be excused from the table early, and went upstairs, staring aimlessly out the window from his desk. This didn't make any sense. Why would Cartman need to go back to Imaginationland? Now that Stan had brought it up, it felt like that had to be the reason why. But what could he hope to gain from that?

"Kyle?" Sheila called from downstairs. Kyle blinked, snapped out of his reverie, and stood from his chair to peek out his bedroom door.

"Yeah?"

"I was just on the phone with your friend Stan's mother! She says you boys got a permission slip I need to look at today!"

Christ, word got out fast. Kyle let out a sigh, rummaged through his backpack, and retrieved the (slightly wrinkled) permission slip. Heading downstairs with it in hand, he found his mother in the kitchen, helping Ike with some kind of school project. She turned, saw the outstretched permission slip, and quickly grabbed it, reading over it.

"Oh! Washington DC! That sounds wonderful."

Kyle frowned. "I guess," he said. Ike watched the exchange in amusement.

"You're going to Washington DC for your school trip?" Ike asked. "That's lame."

"There's plenty of things to see in the capitol," Sheila argued, searching the kitchen junk drawer for a pen and her checkbook. "Here, Kyle. You can take this back to Eric tomorrow." She signed the paper, signed a check for the deposit, and handed both to Kyle with a flourish. "I'm sure you'll have lots of fun in Washington."

Kyle groaned. "I don't think I really want to go," he argued.

"Nonsense," his dad said, from behind. Kyle turned to see the man in the kitchen doorway, looking amused. "Everyone's going."

"Isn't it required?" Ike asked, going back to his diorama book report of To Kill a Mockingbird, carefully gluing another popsicle stick in to the courtroom scene. "You pretty much have to go."

Wordlessly, Kyle turned, sighed, and slumped back up towards his room.

"Goodnight!" his parents called.

He was totally doomed. The only thing he could even hope to do at this point was try to uncover Cartman's plan on his own and put an end to it… and he'd never been very good at that.


	4. Chapter 4

The semester zoomed by without much more activity from Cartman's class trip. Kyle had tried to get any information he could, but Cartman was secretive, and Kyle knew from years of experience that pressing would only lower his chances of finding out anything substantial, so he tried to wait it out and see. Eventually, it got so quiet that he let the issue slip into the back of his mind - especially with holidays, exams, and cool new videogames coming out.

It wasn't until school started back up in earnest in the spring that Kyle remembered Cartman's plan. Everyone had already turned in permission slips and paid for the trip - even Kenny, who'd scraped up money from his job to cover expenses (and probably gotten a grant from the school itself). The trip was scheduled for the third week in April, and then everybody had to get back, take final exams, and the semester would be pretty much over. As the date in April slowly approached, Kyle was getting more and more concerned. He didn't have the slightest idea what Cartman was up to. He didn't even have the slightest idea how to find out what Cartman was planning. As they all piled into a school bus that was going to take them to the Denver airport, Kyle stared out the bus window in abject misery.

"What's wrong, dude?" Kenny asked, sliding in beside him. Kenny nudged Kyle's side, grinning a little.

"Everything," Kyle muttered.

"DC's kinda sucky, but hey, we gotta make the most out of it," Kenny said, setting his bag in his lap. "I was kinda hoping for Vegas though. Did you know prostitution is legal there?"

 

The Denver International Airport was bigger than Kyle remembered it. The teacher chaperones (including Mr. Garrison, volunteering even though he still taught at the elementary school) all did their best to shuttle everyone from check-in to security and onto the tram that would take them to their concourse, and their class alone took up an entire tram car and a half. Kyle found himself pushed into the back, holding his carry-on to his chest and nestled up on the tram's lone seat. Cartman was next to him, unsurprisingly not standing like 99% of the rest of their class. As the tram pulled away from the security station, Kyle shot Cartman a glare, half-hidden by how dark it was in the underground passage their train was now moving through.

"What exactly are you planning, fatass?" Kyle asked, sure their conversation would be covered by the rest of the chatter in the car. "I know you're up to something. I am so on to you."

Cartman's eyebrows shot up on his forehead, giving Kyle the "incredulous and innocent" expression he'd perfected over the years. "Me?" he asked. "Kyle, Kyle, Kyle. What _are_ you talking about."

"This!" Kyle gestured into the train car (as well as he could, considering how packed it was). He didn't have a whole lot of patience for Cartman's bullshit antics, and his voice shifted sharply upwards in pitch like it always did when he was angry. Usually it was embarrassing, but right now he was a little too exasperated to notice. "You want something in Washington DC, don't you?!"

Cartman smiled, His lips turned up while his brow seemed to turn down, giving his face an arrogant, darkly amused sort of expression. "Would you believe me if I said I was going to steal the Declaration of Independence?"

Kyle started, surprised. Actually, that sounded perfectly believable. Was he wrong about the whole Imaginationland thing? He opened his mouth, paused, closed it, tried to think of a retort, and finally sat back a little, letting out a huff of air. "I don't know about that," he said, finally. "But I know you're doing something. I'm going to keep my eyes on you."

"Sure you are, Kyle."

 _"We have arrived at Concourse A."_ The doors opened, and a few people outside at the tram station peered into the car, clearly realizing there was no way they'd be getting on. The tram paused for a moment before the mechanical voice came back. _"The doors are closing. Please keep clear, and hold on for departure to Concourse B."_

That was their concourse. Kyle glanced down at his ticket, then frowned. Cartman probably wouldn't tell him what his plan was… so he probably _wasn't_ planning to steal the Declaration of Independence. …Unless Cartman thought that saying the truth so flippantly would make Kyle think it wasn't what he was planning, like some kind of reverse psychology? What was that quote… "The best way to keep a secret is to tell it to everybody, but pretend like you're joking"? Something like that.

Kyle wasn't getting anywhere with this, just thinking in circles. Cartman seemed satisfied that Kyle had at least stopped interrogating him and turned his attention back to his 3DS, watering a plant in his Animal Crossing town.

When they got to the concourse, the group piled out of the tram, flooding the walkway and escalator with students chattering amongst themselves. Cartman had slipped away somewhere, and Kyle was left walking in a clump of Token, Clyde, and Craig, who were talking very seriously about some kind of conspiracy theory.

"Have you heard about it, Kyle?" Clyde asked. Kyle raised an eyebrow, not really having any idea what they'd been saying.

"Heard about what?"

"Y'know…" Clyde looked around conspiratorially before leaning in, lowering his voice a little. "This place is totally run by the Illuminati or something. There's like a whole city underground. That's why the airport is so far from Denver."

Kyle rolled his eyes. "Whatever."

"Shouldn't you know?" Craig asked. "Isn't the Illuminati like, Jewish or whatever?"

"What?!" Kyle stared at him in slight shock — he wasn't usually prepared for getting ribbed on for being Jewish from anybody but Cartman. "Whatever, they're totally Christian! I should ask if you're in the Illuminati!"

"There's a lot of different theories," Token said, sounding amused. He probably didn't buy into any of it, but he usually didn't get involved in that kind of thing. "But Kyle's definitely not in the Illuminati."

"Anyway," Craig said, sounding bored but inserting himself into the conversation, "some people say they play this weird noise that's supposed to make you feel sick and uneasy. It's like a frequency that we can't really hear but still bothers people." As if on cue, the boys all stilled and tried to listen, but any ultrasonic hum was lost over the chatter, bustle, and general noise of the airport around them.

"Kyle!" Stan cried, destroying any listening they might have been able to do. Moment broken, Kyle waved, running over towards Stan. "Pretty sure everybody feels crappy in airports anyway," he told the group as he ran off.

Stan and Kenny were standing near a vending machine, where Stan was buying Kenny a coke. "Want anything?" he asked as Kyle came over. "Dad got really weird before I left and said a man should enjoy his youth or something and gave me like five hundred bucks to spend before he started crying. I'm pretty much rolling in it."

"Whoa, really?" Kyle grinned, glancing over the machine. "Get me a cherry coke!"

Stan put the money in, pressed a button, and Kyle's coke fell down into the basket. Kyle picked it up, took a drink, and hoped they wouldn't take it before they got on the plane. He hadn't flown in a while, he wasn't sure what the policies were anymore. Half the class hadn't even realized they needed to take their shoes off while going through security (Wendy had stared at Stan, holding her loafers in one hand, and given him a nudging "ahem" and that was the only reason Stan and Kyle had figured it out). The last time he'd been to DC, they'd gone by helicopter with some CIA agents.

Jeez, what a weird year that had been. Even just thinking about it now sometimes felt so surreal. It had definitely been real, though. Imaginationland, the leprechaun — even things that had happened closer to home that seemed too crazy for words had been real. Thank god things had calmed down some over time — they'd probably all be dead by now if they hadn't.

"This way, children, we need to go towards the Gate," Mr. Garrison called, and Kyle capped his soda, checked his ticket, and started down the moving walkway.

They were a little early for their flight, and they sat for a while at the gate — there were so many of them that the seating wasn't enough by a long shot, and Kyle could tell by glancing around that other people unlucky enough to be on the plane were not pleased they'd be flying with a class of rowdy high schoolers. Cartman was pretty engrossed in his 3DS, Stan was scrolling Tumblr, and Kenny was watching something on a hand-me-down portable DVD player he'd inherited from Token (who'd given it to him when he'd decided he could just use his laptop to play DVDs on the go if he wanted). That limited his socialization options pretty significantly. With a sigh, Kyle slipped down into a seat next to Wendy and Bebe, and they quickly stopped talking, both looking at him expectantly.

"Er," Kyle said, a little nervous. He always felt awkward when girls were staring at him (which, admittedly, wasn't very often). "Hey, Wendy, has Cartman said anything to you about why he chose Washington DC?"

"Huh?" Wendy blinked, a little surprised with the question. "Uhm, no, not really. I mean, he said some stuff about like, checks and balances, and the heart of America and how we should see the workings of our government first-hand, but it sounded kind of like bullshit to me."

Kyle perked up — this was the first time anybody had said anything that made it sound like they also thought Cartman could be up to something. "Really?" he said. "Well— do you know where we're going, exactly?"

"Do you want to see the itinerary?" she asked. Wendy leaned over, dipped her hand into her carry-on bag, and retrieved a folded piece of paper. "Here, he had to submit a copy to me, since I'm on the student council. You can look at it if you want."

Kyle took the paper carefully, as if it was a map to buried treasure, and unfolded it. The day-by-day plan of events was all laid out. Arrive in Washington. Arrive at the hotel. They weren't doing anything tonight. The next day was pretty packed — a visit to the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial, a visit to the Vietnam Memorial, a tour of the White House. Everything was scheduled precisely down to the minute. It would be impressive if Kyle wasn't too busy trying to read the schedule like he was deciphering a code. Day two: a visit to the Smithsonian until lunch, then the National Archives and the Library of Congress. Kyle scanned through each activity without even thinking about how boring they'd be, too intent on discovering Cartman's plan.

It wasn't until day 3 that a tour of the Pentagon and a visit to the Pentagon Memorial appeared. Kyle stared at the words, certain they meant something. Cartman hadn't had a hard time breaking into the Pentagon before, but that had been seven years ago. Was he really going to try it again? Wouldn't it have been easier to try catching a leprechaun again like they had before?

Kyle reluctantly handed the paper back to Wendy with a muted "thanks", gathering his bag as the flight began to board. Mr. Garrison did a commendable job herding them all into a line, and once Kyle had his ticket scanned (they hadn't taken his coke, score) and he'd gotten into his seat, he pulled up on the window shade, stared out towards the men loading luggage onto their plane, and sighed. Butters took a seat next to him, shaking, apparently terrified to fly, but Kyle ignored him.

It was a three and a half hour flight until they were in DC. After that, Kyle had to watch Cartman like a hawk.

He wasn't going to get away with… whatever he was planning. Not if Kyle had a say in the matter.


	5. Chapter 5

Kyle stood in a forest full of brightly-colored trees, oversized mushrooms, and gumdrop candy, and tried to figure out how the hell he'd gotten there.

It wasn't like he'd been struck with sudden amnesia, really — it was just so wholly unbelievable that he felt like he was having flashbacks.

The first night had been uneventful. They'd gotten to the hotel and piled in four to a room — which thankfully meant Kyle, Stan, Kenny, and Cartman were sharing — and had gone to bed. The next morning, they'd woken up, ate breakfast in the hotel, and headed off down the list of Cartman's carefully planned activities. (The Lincoln Memorial was definitely smaller in person.) Kyle had been on guard and stayed close to Cartman during their entire tour of the White House, in case his first idea of Presidential kidnapping turned out to be true, but Cartman had diligently gone along with the tour, not even straying to take a bathroom break. The second day was more of the same — even though Kyle stayed close to Cartman and watched him as well as he could, Cartman didn't go anywhere. He walked through the Smithsonian's exhibits with reigned-in (feigned?) interest, asked polite questions of the tour guides, and seemed to genuinely enjoy taking charge of the rest of the students and getting them from place to place. Even when they got to the National Archives, and Cartman stood next to the Declaration of Independence, he didn't move to do anything crazy.

"This isn't the real one," he told Kyle, voice low, casually like he was imparting a simple fact with no darker meaning underneath. "This one's just a pretty good copy. They keep it all pressurized and junk, though."

"Would you know where the real one is?" Kyle asked, carefully, trying to keep his expression neutral. Cartman grinned back at him, clearly amused.

"I'm pretty sure Nicholas Cage has it," Kenny said, stepping into the conversation. Kyle blinked, staring back at him.

"What?"

"Y'know. Nicholas Cage." Kenny paused, but once he realized Kyle wasn't comprehending, he suddenly laughed. "Dude, you've never seen National Treasure? Where he steals the Declaration of Independence?"

"Wait— its a movie?" Kyle asked. Here he'd thought Cartman's whole "stealing the Declaration" thing was something serious that he'd come up with — and the whole time he'd been referencing some stupid _movie_?

"Well yeah." Kenny laughed again. Kyle's face suddenly got hot, his cheeks and ears coloring red. "You really didn't know that?"

Cartman had totally played him for a fool. Kyle felt so stupid. So it wasn't the Declaration he was after? That had just been a joke after all?

Day three, though. That was when everything had gone wrong. They'd woken up bright and early, had breakfast, and piled into their rented bus to go to the Pentagon — and halfway through the tour, when the guide stopped them all at some bathrooms to take a break, Kyle had lost sight of Cartman.

He'd been so stupid! He'd been following Cartman into the bathroom, and then Bebe had suddenly stepped in front of him. They'd bumped into each other, landed on the floor, and the contents of Bebe's purse had gone everywhere. Kyle tried to help her pick everything up, but she looked mortified and quickly scooped it all up herself, yelling at Kyle for being a clumsy idiot. A few of the other girls looked scandalized, but the boys around him mostly seemed as confused as he was. What the hell had he done wrong?

When Kyle had gotten to his feet, he realized Cartman was gone. Cursing, Kyle checked every bathroom stall, then started down the hall, slipping away from the rest of his classmates.

How the hell had Cartman moved so _fast_? He was too fat to sprint!

But eventually he made his way to sector two — just where they'd been before. Security was as lax as it had been that day seven years ago. Just as Kyle turned a vaguely familiar corner, he saw Cartman disappear — right into Project Imagination Doorway's massive machine.

It looked like there'd been some technical upgrades over the years, here and there — but there still wasn't a video feed into the imagination. Kyle stood frozen for a moment, before he heard footsteps approaching from somewhere behind him. He had two choices. He could try to hide and get back to the tour group, or he could go after Cartman into the machine.

Kyle didn't have to think for very long. He didn't know what Cartman was doing, but he was the only one who knew anything about it. He had to go after him.

And that was why he now found himself standing in the middle of a forest that looked like it had come out of a game of Chutes and Ladders. Kyle shifted, looked around, and called out for Cartman.

"Cartman!" he yelled. "Get your fat ass back here!"

No response. Kyle couldn't even hear the sound of twigs snapping or movement in the trees around him at all. He sighed, stared up at the sky, and thought for a moment about how stupid it had been to come in here. What could Cartman really do from inside? Get lost? That wasn't Kyle's problem!

And besides, how the hell was he going to get out? There wasn't any exit anywhere. The machine had just dropped him from the sky into the trees. If he was going to leave, ever, he had to find the Mayor, and he'd be somewhere in town.

Kyle picked a direction, started walking, and hoped he could stay on the same path. The last thing he wanted to do was spend hours walking around in circles.

 

 _Finally._ It had taken months of planning and more work than Cartman would have liked, but he'd _finally_ gotten to Washington DC - and he'd gotten Kyle there, too, if his radar was any indication. Cartman had spent the months leading up to the class trip getting good at lucid dreaming and visualization — he figured dreams had to be as close to Imaginationland as he could get, and if he got good at creating in his dreams he'd have no problem doing it once he got to the real place, and he'd been right. Walking through the forest, compass and radar in hand, he felt a little bit like Solid Snake (who, hell, was probably wandering around this place _somewhere_ ), and that was an awesome feeling.

But Cartman hadn't come to Imaginationland to feel like Solid Snake — actually, he hadn't even come to Imaginationland to meet any of its citizens. He'd come for one reason, and one reason only: Kyle Broflovski had yet to suck his balls.

Oh, sure, Cartman had imagined up a version of him and Kyle and made it happen last time — but that hadn't really settled their deal in his mind. It was just a particularly life-like fantasy. Kyle'd still gotten out of having Cartman's balls in his mouth, and that was unforgivable. Back in fourth grade, when something life-changing had happened weekly, Cartman had eventually forgotten about their bet, but Stan bringing it up again that night months ago in his basement brought everything back. Cartman could try his best to get Kyle to honor their long-forgotten arrangement without coming to Imaginationland, but he was pretty sure it wouldn't have worked. After all, Kyle had always found a way to weasel out of it at home the last time. No, they needed to go back to the root of the entire issue — and so Cartman had planned, schemed, worked, and finally, finally, he'd gotten Kyle right where he wanted him.

Pretty impressive, if he did say so himself. At the very least, it was tenacious, and that was worth something. He'd dropped enough hints to to hook Kyle, and then, all he had to do was reel him in. Cartman knew Kyle would follow him, because Kyle had some kind of weird obsession with Cartman.

Like, don't get him wrong or anything, it was flattering and all, but Cartman wasn't going to all this trouble because he _liked_ Kyle. No way. It was about principles!

Or, y'know, something like that.

Cartman found a small clearing in the trees that opened into a sort of valley. A nearby river trickled and ran in hundreds of different colors along the candy rocks, and flowers grew in varieties Cartman had never seen before. This was a good spot. Cartman stopped, set down his backpack, and closed his eyes, pushing all thoughts of Kyle out of his head for now. He had to focus, visualize, and make what he wanted.

With creaking noises, wood began to sprout up from the ground, twisting itself into the shape of a small house. It was familiar - paint filled in, roof tiles fell into place, windows formed, and when Cartman finally opened his eyes, he was standing in front of a perfect replica of his own house.

"Home sweet home," he announced. Kyle would definitely come in when he saw it, looking for Cartman. With only a small amount of focus, Cartman perfectly recreated a piece of paper he hadn't seen in a long time into his hand.

It was his contract with Kyle.

Cartman didn't know how long it would take, but before they left, Kyle would definitely suck his balls. He wasn't going to settle for cheap recreations this time. This time, it was _on_.


	6. Chapter 6

It felt like Kyle had been walking for hours when he finally noticed a familiar slope through some trees. Following it, he was surprised to come into a clearing, but more surprised when he realized what was so familiar — it had been the line of Cartman's roof.

Cartman's house was just sitting here in Imaginationland, looking simultaneously out-of-place and like it completely belonged there. Kyle gaped at it, uncomprehending.

He had to admit, he hadn't expected this. Had Cartman just come here to escape into some kind of fantasy land? Was he scared of graduating next year? Scared of the future? Sure, Kyle was sometimes scared too, but not enough to do all of this!

Shaking his head, Kyle slowly approached the house, paused on the front porch, and decided ultimately to step inside without knocking. The door was unlocked, and Kyle stepped into Cartman's living room, looking around.

"Cartman!" he called. "I know you're here! This is bullshit, let's go back home!"

No response. Kyle sighed, set his backpack down on the couch, and turned to head up the stairs. The layout was the same as it was in reality, which made navigating the place pretty easy — but when he got to Cartman's room and threw the door open, everything suddenly seemed different.

Cartman's room was not like it should have been. It was definitely bigger, for one thing — bigger than it should have been, given the size of the house. That wasn't the most striking thing, though — the room itself was completely different.

The lights were turned down pretty low, windows blocked off by thick curtains, but Kyle could see enough. A large bed was in the center of the room, on a raised red and purple platform. A red-bulbed lamp beside the bed cast the room in an unnatural light, lighting everything up red. The bed was more circular than rectangular, and two large plush pillows shaped like red hearts sat at the head of the bed, framed by a red and white comforter. There was a larger-than-normal red and white armchair to the left of the bed, and to the right, a glass-enclosed shower stall.

It looked like the kind of room Kyle had seen in some of the weird Japanese porn that Kenny sometimes forwarded him. Kyle stood in the doorway in shocked confusion for a long moment before Cartman, seated on the armchair, regarded him lazily, snapping a book shut as if he'd been reading from it. (It disappeared.)

"Ah, Kyle," he said, casually, stretching out against the chair. "I thought you might be along." Kyle only stared back, his mouth having gone dry. There was a piece of paper in Cartman's other hand, and Kyle eyed it warily, stepping further into the room only by a few steps. There was something about that piece of paper…

Cartman noticed Kyle's gaze and his smile grew. "Looking at this?" he asked, holding the contract up. Kyle still didn't quite recognize it, standing too far away to really read the words in the dim light. "Good. That's what I wanted to talk to you about."

"Cartman, we need to go home," Kyle said, seriously. "This is…" (crazy) "…impressive, but—"

"You see, Kyle," Cartman said, slowly, his voice louder, cutting Kyle off, "I've talked a little bit during this trip about civic responsibility… maybe you've heard me." Cartman rose from the chair, stretching, so theatrical about all of this that Kyle would have laughed if he didn't feel some dread growing in his stomach. "Do you know what that is? It's a sense of obligation everyone has instilled in them at a young age. Duty, you could say… specifically to the government, and to our legal system."

"What does this have to do with anything," Kyle cut in, beginning to get impatient. If Cartman didn't want to leave, whatever. Kyle would go find the Mayor himself.

"You see, Kyle," Cartman repeated, quickly at the end of Kyle's sentence, not happy at having been interrupted again. "Civic responsibility guides us to do a lot of things. Pay our taxes. Vote in elections. Maybe even shoot off fireworks on the fourth of July. Oh yes, and one other thing…" Cartman looked down at the paper in his hand, smiling. "Fulfill contracts when we sign and agree to them."

Kyle stared. It didn't take a rocket scientist to connect the dots here. If he wasn't already thinking about the last time he'd been to Imaginationland, he was now. "You've got to be kidding me," he said, after a silence so long he almost couldn't stand to break it. Kyle licked his lips, stuttered for a moment, and then suddenly held out his hand. "Give me that," he said.

"It won't help you if you rip it up," Cartman said. "It's an imaginary copy of the real thing, it's still legally binding. I can make like a hundred more."

Kyle gestured again, and Cartman slowly handed the paper over. Kyle stared down at it, barely recognizing his own carefully-measured elementary school handwriting — but it didn't matter whether he recognized it or not. He remembered it. With quick movements, he crumpled the paper, throwing it back at Cartman — it hit his chest, bounced, and landed on the floor's thick carpeting. Kyle crossed his arms. It was a petulant move, considering Kyle knew very well that Cartman was right about being able to make more, but it was sort of almost satisfying.

"There is no way," Kyle started, "that I am sucking your balls."

"Yeah, you said that last time," Cartman said. "But I think you'll find that you'll change your mind. Abraham Lincoln said that honoring an agreement is the path of true and Godly men. Don't you want to listen to Abraham Lincoln?"

"You made that up," Kyle argued. Cartman shrugged, not really bothered.

"We're in Imaginationland," Cartman said. "Everything's made up."

"Then make up some other Kyle Broflovski to suck your balls." Kyle turned, crossed the room, and went for the door — but it suddenly slammed shut and sunk into the wall, disappearing. Kyle jumped back, surprised and scared. Behind him, Cartman tsked impatiently.

"Oh, Kyle. You don't get it, do you?" he asked. "You're the one who signed the contract. Nobody else. That makes sucking my balls your responsibility. Or do you really want to foist this duty off on some other hapless Jew?"

Kyle's fear at the disappearing door suddenly melted away, and his face screwed up in anger. He turned on Cartman, marching towards him, fists clenched at his sides.

"Shut the fuck up, Cartman!" he cried. "Get over the fact that I don't want your balls anywhere near my mouth!"

"Really?" Cartman raised an eyebrow, his tone making clear his disbelief. "Then imagine yourself a door and go home, Kyle. Really. I won't stop you."

It was a little hard to believe — Kyle glanced at Cartman suspiciously — but he might as well give it a shot. Closing his eyes, Kyle concentrated, teeth clenching, every muscle in his body tightening as he tried to picture a door back in Cartman's wall. But he kept getting distracted — he couldn't picture it properly at all. What color should it be? Was it a normal bedroom door, or something else? His mind wandered, his concentration faltering — and when Kyle opened his eyes, the wall was blank and unchanged. No door.

Cartman laughed. "I knew you couldn't do it!" he said. He sounded way too self-satisfied about that. "You don't have a creative bone in your body, Kyle."

As much as Kyle hated to admit it, it was kind of true. He'd gotten terrible grades in art classes, and he'd never been good at the kinds of book reports Ike was always doing, where he had to build a model or present a 3D version of a scene made out of Legos. He sucked at visualizing things.

Kyle had always just thought it was a part of who he was. If he'd have known that inability would ultimately lead to this, he probably would have tried harder to get better at it.

Slowly, Kyle's body relaxed, each muscle unclenching as he turned towards Cartman. He remembered this feeling of complete defeat. Cartman had told the men working at the Pentagon that they had a contract that had been legally settled by the court, and Kyle _had_ to suck his balls, and when they'd been ushered into a conference room to get it over with, Kyle had actually resigned himself to the fact that it was something he was going to have to do. Something had happened that had stopped it, back then — but the longer Kyle waited here, the more he realized nothing was going to change. Nobody was going to come save him. Nothing was—

Wait a minute. Was that a doorbell?


	7. Chapter 7

Cartman heard it too - both of them were staring at the space in the wall where the door had been, and the doorbell from downstairs was ringing incessantly through the house.

"Are you going to get that?" Kyle asked, finally, glancing back at Cartman. Cartman let out a cry of frustration, the doorway popped back into existence, and both boys headed downstairs as fast as they could, fueled by intense curiosity.

When Cartman opened the door, it was to two men dressed in white button-down shirts and black ties and pants. The one in the front had a wave of light brown hair, carefully slicked back, and he was holding some kind of book in his hand. The man slightly beside him was heavier, with a mess of dark curls and a pair of thick glasses.

They both wore nametags that read "THE CHURCH OF JESUS CHRIST OF LATTER DAY SAINTS", and something above that Kyle could only assume was their name.

For a moment, Cartman and Kyle just stood in the doorway in silence, unsure of what to say.

"Hello!" the thinner one said, his voice way, way too cheerful for any time of day, but especially any time before noon. "My name is Elder Price, and—"

"—And I'm Elder Cunningham!" the man behind him interjected.

"…Right. He's Elder Cunningham." Price sighed, smoothed his hair, and suddenly continued. "We're here on a mission from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Have you heard of us?"

"Uh," Kyle said, slowly. "You're on a mission in Imaginationland?"

"It is kind of strange," Price admitted. "But we go wherever God sends us! Even the souls of imaginary people need to be saved! I guess."

"We met Luke Skywalker yesterday," Cunningham said. "I even got a placement!" He looked pretty pleased about this.

"Do you mind if we come inside?" Price asked. "We'd love to talk to you both a little more about the Book of Mormon and Joseph Smith!"

"Yeah, no," Cartman said, before Kyle could stumble out another awkward answer. "He's a Jew, I'm about to get him to suck my balls, and you guys are a couple of fags." With that, Cartman shut the door in Price's horrified face. Kyle couldn't help but notice the irony in Cartman's sentence, but it wasn't actually as funny as it would have been under any other circumstances.

If that had been a sign from God, Kyle decided, it was a really, really shitty one. Apparently even God thought Kyle should just get over it and suck Cartman's balls already.

Thanks a lot, God.

Cartman didn't seem to really mind the change in scenery. He slipped onto the couch, like normal, just as if he were about to reach over and turn the TV on. Kyle felt nausea growing in the pit of his stomach. Cartman's legs were spread out, his shoes were kicked off, and he gestured for Kyle to come settle on the floor in the space between his legs, a spot that would be giving Kyle's mouth pretty good access to Cartman's balls. His pants weren't off yet, thank God, but it was only a matter of time.

What the hell even was this? In fourth grade, it had been demeaning and ridiculous — not really sexual, if that could be believed, I mean, they'd only been ten years old. Now— something felt different about it, now. Kyle didn't doubt that Cartman wanted to humiliate and and dominate him, that was pretty obvious, but… you couldn't really be seventeen years old and want another guy to suck your balls without being at least a little bit gay, right?

And the fact that Cartman had gone to this much trouble to secure it was totally crazy! Kyle had seen Cartman get fixated on a lot of things over the years, and he always been to weird lengths nobody else did when he was, but he always dropped those things, too, in time. But this weird fixation Cartman had on _him_ just kept coming back, over and over again. He'd spent _seven months_ planning this trip just so Kyle would suck his balls, all without even _trying_ to get Kyle to do it back home?

Why the hell was that starting to feel a little romantic? Most girls thought it was romantic when a guy asked them to prom by mowing it into their lawn or writing it on their cars and sharing the pictures on Instagram. But Cartman had gone to all this actual trouble for him. Was it really only because of the contract? Did Cartman feel cheated on their agreement, or was it more than that?

Completely oblivious to Kyle's inner monologue, Cartman gestured again, a little more impatiently. "These balls aren't going to suck themselves, Kyle," he said. "Look, I'm not even going to set up a videocamera this time. Just you and me. And my balls." (That was a lie, of course. He had a special button camera on his shirt's topmost button, and he planned to record the entire thing — but details. Kyle didn't need to know that.

Kyle let out a sigh, his shoulders slumping. All thoughts of romance quickly flew out of his head, which was fine. It was probably temporary insanity. Cartman wasn't really capable of romance, and if he was, Kyle was pretty sure he didn't want to be on its receiving end. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, as if already mentally preparing himself for the task before him, and then folded his arms, surveying Cartman with a serious look.

Kyle knew he was going to have to finally, after so many years, man up and do what he'd agreed to do. But not because Cartman had found a leprechaun one time when they were ten. Not because he'd signed a contract. If he was going to do this, he needed to find some way to get some satisfaction out of all of this, too.

Cartman had gone to a lot of trouble, but Kyle definitely had taken his fair share, too.

"No," he said, plainly.

"What?" Cartman stared back at him, feigning that he hadn't heard Kyle's very clear response.

"No," Kyle repeated. "I'm not going to suck your balls."

Cartman sighed, heading lolling back on the couch in irritation. "Kyle, do we need to go over this again?" he asked. "You signed a contract. You bet me that—"

"I know what I bet you," Kyle said, and this time it was _him_ who cut _Cartman_ off, and that was pretty satisfying. He had to take satisfaction where he could get it here. "But I'm not going to suck your balls unless you admit that you want me to."

Cartman stared, as if uncomprehending. "Are you retarded?" he asked, finally. "Obviously I want you to, I'm sitting here waiting for you to put your mouth on my balls. I don't know how much more clear I can be."

"But why?" Kyle pressed. "Why do you want me to suck your balls? And don't say because I agreed to do it and you won the bet. I'm asking why you even bet that in the first place."

Kyle had seriously lost his mind. Cartman stared, wondering if he was going to have to imagine-up a sanitarium for him. Maybe the one from Silent Hill was here somewhere. That was imagined and all, right?

Still, it did get him thinking. It was a long time ago, but why had he bet that? Because it was funny? It was pretty funny. Because it was the worst thing he could possibly think of? Probably. Cartman opened his mouth to say something, but Kyle cut him off. He was getting really sick of that.

"And now I'm asking why you want me to do it _now_. Now, after we resolved this seven years ago."

They hadn't really, but it had been let go. _Some_ Kyle had sucked _some_ Cartman's balls (which had been a pretty terrible thing to witness in the third person, that was for sure), and that had seemed like it'd been enough for Cartman. So why pursue it so doggedly now, so many years later? Because Stan had mentioned Imaginationland off-handedly?

Kyle didn't think that was the case.

"What are you asking, for me to tell you I love you?" Cartman quipped, lips twitching into a smile in amusement. That was ridiculous. Kyle almost recoiled at the mention.

"No, dumbass. Gross." Kyle sighed, licked his lips, and looked away, thinking. Cartman couldn't help but watch the way Kyle's tongue darted out of his mouth and moved over his bottom lip, and the way Kyle sucked his lip in and scraped it over his top teeth at the end. Cartman's stomach felt a little rumbly, his head a little light. Weird, he'd definitely made sure he'd eaten a full breakfast, so why—

"I don't want you to say you love me," Kyle said, suddenly, his voice surprisingly strong. "I want you to admit that you want me. Tell me you want me, or I'm not sucking your balls, or your dick, or anything else."

Despite the fact that Kyle had been assertive, he still felt like he'd put a lot on the line just now. Cartman was staring at him with a completely blank expression, Kyle realized slowly that what he'd said actually sounded incredibly gay and was trying to grapple with that, and he felt _vulnerable_. And around Cartman, the last thing anybody wanted to be was vulnerable.

"You are such a fag," Cartman said, after a pause that stretched on for so long that Kyle half-expected the Mormons would come back before anybody would speak up.

"You're the one who went to all this trouble just to get my mouth on your balls," Kyle argued. As much as Cartman wanted to assert that no, it was just about the principle of the thing, it wasn't gay at all… he wasn't so sure he could.

"Goddamnit, Kyle," he muttered, finally, looking away, his gaze fixed now on some nebulous point in the direction of the kitchen. "I hate you so much."

That sounded a lot nicer than "I love you" — but it still wasn't what Kyle wanted to hear. Kyle sighed, pulled his shirt off, and tossed it onto the living room floor, and Cartman's gaze snapped back to Kyle, the action having gotten his attention. This was bullshit. Total bullshit. Why did he feel sudden butterflies in his stomach? Why did he feel lightheaded and warm? This was supposed to be about control and humiliation and making Kyle pay. That was all it was ever supposed to be about. But now Kyle was pulling his shirt off, revealing skin, and stepping towards him, and—

Kyle put his hand on Cartman's leg, using it for stability as he slowly lowered himself to his knees, between Cartman's sprawled legs. Cartman swallowed, cursed Kyle again, and slapped his hand away.

"I'm not going to say it," he said, stubbornly. "You have to suck my balls anyway, the contract says so."

"Fuck the contract," Kyle said, raising an eyebrow up at Cartman. "Just admit you actually want me to do this because I turn you on and I'll do it."

Guh. That wasn't fair at all. Cartman clenched his teeth together, stared down at Kyle, and tried to ignore the slope of his (oversized) nose and his fair complexion and the way his eyelashes were way too long and rested beautifully against his cheek when Kyle closed his eyes. His hair was an awful mess, yeah, but it wasn't like Kyle was bad-looking. (For a Jew.) So what if Cartman did want him? He was getting some, wasn't he? That was more than Cartman could say for half the other idiots in their class. And besides, Craig was definitely a fag and nobody thought he was a loser for it. (Actually, the only person who gave him any shit was Cartman.) Cartman still liked chicks, anyway, so it wasn't like he was a full-fag. He was like… half-fag. Yeah.

And maybe only for this. Only for Kyle. Not because Kyle was a guy. Not even because Kyle was okay to look at — but because over the years, Kyle had always been there, even if Cartman had kinda wanted him dead a couple times because Kyle wouldn't fuck off or shut the fuck up. That was pretty natural, wasn't it? Lots of guys felt that way about girls they liked.

Admitting that he liked Kyle was totally out of the question, though. He wasn't going to word it like that. Only blushing schoolgirls said "I like you" and only characters in hentai said "I want you". If Kyle didn't like it, tough shit. When Cartman opened his mouth, the words that came out weren't at all what Kyle expected.

"Fine. This is me, making you mine. Do you like that? You're going to suck my balls because I want to own you, Kyle." Cartman felt a buzz in the back of his head once the words left his mouth, but they felt a little stupid and embarrassing even if they were uncomfortably true. When Kyle didn't do anything but stare up at him for long minutes, Cartman started considering imagining himself a jetpack and launching right out of the entire situation, but finally, Kyle wet his lips again, let out a choked, shaky laugh, and shook his head, eyes going to the carpet.

His ears were turning red.

"Holy shit, Cartman," he said. Kyle's hands moved slowly, up towards Cartman's waistband, fingers undoing the button and zipper with clumsy, jerky movement. With a little bit of fumbling, Cartman sat up enough to get the pants and underwear to his knees before relaxing back against the couch. Everything felt too sensitive, and the sensation of sitting on the couch naked was a weird one. Kyle was staring at his dick, Cartman was holding his breath and feeling like the world was spinning out of control, and finally, _finally_ , Kyle sucked in a breath, closed his eyes, and fulfilled his side of the bargain, some seven years after the fact.

The waiting, Cartman decided, had totally been worth it.


	8. Epilogue

For two weeks, it was like nothing had ever happened. Kyle could almost forget about it, except that the Mayor had been so overjoyed to see them both again when they needed to get home (and so surprised at the lengths they'd taken to get there) that he'd given them both pins that would transport them to Imaginationland anytime they wanted, as long as they pressed a small button on the pin and hummed the Imaginationland song. (Kyle had two more he was supposed to give to "the other creators", Stan and Butters, but that was kind of the last thing he wanted to do, so he just held onto them for now.)

The pin itself was kind of awful, because it was a rainbow and looked like something he'd get at a gay pride rally, which made what he'd done there a little more embarrassing, but still — the pin was proof that it had all really happened, even if he and Cartman both acted like nothing at all had changed.

Until one night, hours after his last final, when Kyle suddenly got a text. He'd spent the day trying to destress, but hadn't been very successful — tests were horrible on his anxiety, which was surprising considering how well he tended to do on them — so any kind of distraction was a welcome one. He nearly leapt on his phone at the "incoming text" noise, quickly unlocking it and navigating to his messages.

It was from Cartman. All it said was:  
 _pid. 10 minutes. Promise u dn't have to suck my balls this time_

PID? From context, Kyle figured that probably stood for "Project Imagination Doorway". Were they really going to use the same lame name as the geniuses from the Pentagon?

More importantly, was Cartman seriously _bootycalling_ him?

For some reason, Kyle felt himself smiling. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, thinking up a response.

Finally:  
 _i hope you seriously don't think your promises actually mean anything_  
And then, after another pause:  
 _ok I'll be there. 10 minutes._

Cartman shot off another text almost immediately.

_5 minutes. I lied. Ur right, defenitely do not trust me._

Kyle laughed (half at Cartman's terrible texting), flopped back onto his bed, and reached for the pin he kept tucked in his nightstand. He didn't know what Cartman had planned, but for some reason, this time he was a little more excited than suspicious. A little.

**Author's Note:**

> December 2017: I'm suddenly getting a ton of attention on this story (if the kudos emails are any indication). I'd love to hear where you all are finding this story from, it's a very sudden boom which makes me wonder where you all are coming from! If you could leave a comment letting me know, I'd super appreciate it!


End file.
